


Cyprus

by FaerieChild



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fix-it set after The Greater Good. Harry and Ruth are reunited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cyprus

**Author's Note:**

> This is a HR fic set after The Greater Good but I've tried to keep most of the major spoilers out for anyone who hasn't seen it. I wrote this while listening to a song called Iron Sky by Paolo Nutini, there's a great studio version recorded at Abbey Road that I had on repeat and its on youtube if you want to go and listen.

Harry walked up the path from the small marina, the cerulean blue of the sea, the warm ochre of the stone, the distinctive green spread of the Cyprus cedar on top of the hill smelled faintly in the evening breeze, mingling with the scent of the herbs from the kitchen garden.

The steps were carved up the steep side from the cove to the house at the top, still warm from the heat of the sun even as the purple light of evening hung on the horizon.

At the top stood a modest dwelling, a paved area with potted plants lay next to a small swimming pool that overlooked the sea. Scrub and small trees provided privacy from the other houses scattered nearby between the patches of Mediterranean countryside.

It was as he approached that the patio door opened and a woman dressed in a white linen shift dress stepped out and paused, eyes wide, chest heaving as she took him in.

Harry stopped too, drinking in her body, her eyes, her very presence. "Its done," He said simply. "I'm out."

"Harry..." Ruth ran towards him then, embraced him. Hugged him so hard he could hardly breathe, swung her arms around his neck and clung on for long minutes, rocking each other and rubbing hands over backs and murmuring soft words of reassurance. "I saw... the attack."

"We got them," Harry reassured her. "Shh...its alright."

"People died?" Rut asked.

"Yes."

"Harry?"

His hollow gaze stared back at her. Ruth grasped his head and kissed him soundly and then rested their forehead together. Harry just stood there and let her take the lead, needing the comfort of her presence as much as she needed him.

"Qasim?"

"Dead."

"The traitor?"

"Dead...but I didn't tell you that. I need to disappear for a while."

Ruth's hands slid down from clasping his face to resting on his chest as she gazed up at him in concern.

"I'll tell you later, after a strong glass of wine."

"But you're out, now?"

"I've been decommissioned. Mace let me walk, though he had reason enough to want me locked up. I might be alright if I keep a low profile. In the circumstances my own actions are the least of their worries."

Ruth nodded and then paused and Harry did that thing where he cocked his head in the particular manner that meant he was wondering what she wasn't saying as the silence stretched out between them. "Nico's here," Ruth announced.

"Ok..." Harry waited for the other shoe to drop.

Ruth by contrast anticipated anger, the temper that never came and then pulled away just far enough to look at his face. "You're not angry?"

Harry shrugged. "He knows he's welcome, Ruth."

"I just thought you might want to be alone tonight."

"I don't mind," Harry smiled. Quite honestly just seeing her again, just being in her presence and back in their home after months away in London Inside the house the soft sound of a gentle guitar started to float out the open door and Harry found himself smiling. "He's been practicing."

"Driving me nuts, if you must know," Ruth muttered but one arm seemed to snake sub-consciously around her lover's shoulders just as Harry's arm slid around her waist and suddenly they were dancing, softly, as the evening fell and the first star came out, Sirius, Harry guessed, just to the left of the large cedar at the end of the garden.

"So...just to warn you...I'm going to have a bit of time on my hands."

Ruth sighed contentedly and let her head fall against his shoulders. "I can live with that. I just wonder who's in charge of D now?"

"No idea."

"New section chief?"

"Not on my radar."

"The JIC chief?"

"Haven't the faintest," Harry pronounced happily as they shuffled their way around the patio and when Harry caught Nico laughing at them on the other side of the window, Harry sent him a wink.

"Your stepson is laughing at us."

"Oh, now he's my stepson is he?"

Harry just smiled as the music from the house morphed into a record Harry didn't recognise but it seemed strangely appropriate, the soaring soul-filled lyrics about freedom. He had a while now, to test it out, this whole freedom malarkey. The freedom to live apart from The Grid. The freedom to live with Ruth on this quiet corner of rock in the Med.

"Just for the record," Harry announced quietly, "If you ever do want to go back, I have it on good authority that there's surveillance on your grave."

Ruth chuckled quietly.

"Just an idea," Harry shrugged, pulling back to kiss her. "I love you, Ruth Evershed."

"And I love you, Harry Pearce."

"Good. Because I have every intention of making loud and passionate love to you tonight."

"Harry!" Ruth slapped him lightly on the arm. ""Nico's here!"

"And I shall casually inform Nico that he is welcome to blast rock music loud enough to wake up the whole of the island," Harry smiled and kissed her again and they lost themselves in each other for a while and then went in to eat pasta and salad and retired to bed...and the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, in this fic Ruth's death at the end of the series was faked and she has been living in Cyprus since then. I'm sure if Harry happened to have been taking a lot of long weekends away in those four intervening years, it was only because he had so much time in lieu to take, right? ;)


End file.
